It’s now 56 hours without my nicotine fix

Of course, it had to be the 13th I smoked my last cigarette. Tell me my triskaidekaphobia (fear of the number 13) is unfounded and, given it’s now 56 hours without my fix, I can guarantee you a fight.

And stow the arguments about cigarettes being bad for one’s health. We know. We don’t care. And you can take your medical studies and all the other associated yadda yadda yadda, and I’ll smoke it for you.

Like I said, I’m in the mood. Any reason will do. I’m irritable, my keyboard is unreasonably loud, clothes are scratchy, my leg is doing that jump-jump-jump thing almost uncontrollably and I’ve broken two fingernails thrumming them on the desk.

I’m battling to focus because I’m just lost in a mist of building fury and, of course, I know it’s unreasonable.

Smoking was my crutch to deal with stress, has been since I was 15 years old. It would be nice to exercise if I had knees which didn’t sound and feel like they had sand in them, or just about every other joint I’ve managed to destroy over the years.

Also, if my boss called me and said, where are you, and I said within a 5km radius of home, I think he’d tell me to keep walking, especially if it was near deadline, our peak stress time.

My skin is itchy. And when did music become so utterly inane, squealing and whining and shrieking, it sounds like someone has had a cheese grater run over an exposed nerve.

And don’t think I won’t be on my way to my local shop three seconds after the lockdown is lifted.

The only reason I’m not buying illegal cigarettes is because I can’t afford the ridiculous prices. And I don’t want to go to jail for committing robbery.

But, Mr President, your time is few. I’m definitely in the mood to join a rock-throwing competition. For the stress, you know?

I’ve stayed in lockdown like a good little soldier – and I’m starting to feel like a sheep. Like, a whole one. If I don’t actually die of nicotine withdrawal, I’ll die of hunger because I’ve eaten everything in the house.

The cats know. They see me looking at them. I see them looking at me looking at them.

I digress.

Minister Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, when your smoking regulations came out back in the day, I was – like most of us – not terribly enthused about them.

But we complied, for the most part, I think. Didn’t smoke inside work, shops, cars with nonsmokers, etcetera etceteraaaa and I think some of us tried to see their viewpoint and respect that.

Didn’t slow it down much, though, did it?

I wonder how many smokers got their fix, climbed into a car and killed someone under the influence of nicotine, or committed a robbery, or beat their spouse?

“The cigarettes made me do it, your honour,” no smoker has said ever.

Why is this keyboard so loud? And when is everything going to stop? Nobody ever did something under duress and stayed the course.

Nicotine is my problem. There’s no history of cancer in my family, going back a very, very, long time, and the only problem with it is that I don’t have any.

And nobody is winning.

Amanda Watson.

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